


Blocked

by WhoopsOK



Series: Damp [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Play, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dean Has a Bad Day, Enemas, Internalized Kink Shaming, Kink Negotiation, Multi, Squick, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:57:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: “Of course, Dean, with his shiny new kink, didn’t know how to control himself.”
(Dean winds up getting himself constipated.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Poop!! Dean poops and they talk about his poop kink. Don’t read this if that would bother you, doll, I want everyone to have a good time.
> 
> My, my, this...is not where I thought this was going. It's also very long, isn't it? Oh dear...

Dean fucked up.

Of course, Dean, with his shiny new kink, didn’t know how to control himself, of course fucking not.

See, the thing is, it had been a while since that first night alone with the diaper. There’d been seven cases, four date nights, and a holiday weekend spent with Jody, Donna, and the kids between then and now. Even with being satiated in dozens of ways in that time – including an embarrassingly quick blowjob in Jody’s toolshed that Castiel _will not_ let him live down – he still…he was fiending for it, ok? He actually, literally got hard taking a completely normal shit on the toilet the other day, so he figured he needed to do _something._ It’s been months, it’s normal to need to take the edge off, right?

Sam and Cas’ next date night – caseload permitting – was going to be Saturday, and Dean had _no_ intention of wasting it. He wanted to do something different, something he would definitely _not_ be able to do on a shorter outing. Remembering how he felt all raw and fucked out last time when he finally—when all that backed up shit _finally_ came out, he wanted to see what it felt like to actually _be_ fucked out. He thought, just maybe, he thought if he got his poop just a _little_ harder, he might be able to…it might hold up under pressure.

Instead of all that soft shit rushing out after the hard bit, he might be able to… _feel_ it there, longer, sticking out, while he stroked himself off. He might be able to actually see it; might be able to touch it, _move_ it. So he tried to hold it without all the extra fiber, without sucking down so many extra water bottles… He’s held it all week so when Saturday rolls around, he can hardly wait.

So, imagine his disappointment when he goes to the bathroom and nothing actually happens.

He sits in his diaper for a half hour, tries forcing, tries relaxing, tries _lube,_ but he just— _he can’t shit._

Dean blows out a frustrated breath.

So that’s a bit of a boner kill, but ok, it’s fine, right? Adults get constipated, it happens, no need to get in a snit about it. He frowns when his stomach gurgles at him unhappily, leaving the restroom and getting dressed. Glaring down the cashier at the gas station was unfair, but at least he gets his laxatives without comment. He takes them in the car, and leaves them in the glove box – he wouldn’t be able to have any _real_ fun with his shit this time, but he’ll settle for jerking off in the can if letting _this_ load go feels as good as it did last time.

Several hours later, after Sam and Castiel have already called to say they’re coming home, the laxative hasn’t done anything but upset his stomach. He’s cramping so bad, he’s having trouble keeping his face straight and _that’s_ saying something. He almost gags when Castiel asks if he wants them to bring him anything back for dinner, his off-handed “I already ate” coming out less convincing than he would’ve liked.

Deciding to see if taking an extra dose of the laxative and sleeping on it does him any good, Dean just turns in for the night. When he wakes up at 5am with one hell of a stomach ache, still unable to shit, he admittedly starts to freak out a little. He knows he’s acting suspicious when he doesn’t return to Castiel’s arms after going to “take a leak” and sneaks around like a criminal until Sam leaves for his morning jog, but he’s making himself nervous.

He’s just getting back from glaring down a different cashier while he buys a single-use enema when Sam corners him in the entry way.

“Sam—” he starts, but then his back is against the wall and Sam is kissing him.

He’s still sweaty and keyed up from his run and, _fuck_ , already hard _._

Dean drops the bag, swaying as Sam grinds their hips together. He’s kissing him like he’s _hot_ , like he wants to lay Dean out and work him open and—

“Wanna fuck you,” Sam growls against his mouth, hand working down the back of Dean’s pants and all at once, Dean runs cold.

Though he tries to hold it back, he tenses when Sam’s hand finds his bare ass, his stomach turning uncomfortably. Sam, who knows very few things better than he knows his big brother, stops instantly. He pulls back before Dean can seal their lips back together.

“Dean…” Sam says uncertainly.

Dean, blushing and shivery, tries to work his hands into Sam’s pants, tries to kiss him again. “Let me suck you off,” he begs. His jaw tenses when Sam catches him by the wrists.

“No, Dean,” Sam says, the lust in his face clearing to make way for concern. “What’s going on?”

Dean doesn’t look away, though it’s an effort. He resists the temptation to kick the bag of evidence off the stairs. “What do you mean?”

Sam doesn’t quite sneer, his face is too soft for that, but he definitely looks upset. “Come on, man, you’ve been acting funny whenever we touch you for a week now,” he says, then lets go of Dean’s arms. “Did… did I _do_ some—?”

“No, no, fuck no, Sammy,” Dean interrupts, taking his hands back. “You didn’t do anything wrong, nothing like that,” he chews his lip. _Fuck,_ his stomach hurts so badly it’s making it hard to focus. He doesn’t know what to say to get away from Sam long enough to squirt some fancy lube up his ass and hope for the best. He starts getting frustrated enough that Sam looking at him all open and concerned is making him feel like crying.

This was _not_ supposed to be a little space thing, how does Sammy _do_ this to him?

“Hey, hey,” Sam says gently, stroking his thumbs across Dean’s knuckles. “Talk to me, Dee. What’s going on?”

Dean’s face is flaming and he looks down at his shoes. “I just haven’t, you know…” he motions vaguely, tosses a hand out behind himself. When he feels Sam just staring blankly, he curls in on himself. “I haven’t… _gone._ ”

Sam’s eyes narrow marginally, calculating. “Since when?” he asks and when Dean hems and haws, he asks more sternly. “ _Since when, Dean?_ ”

Flinching, Dean chews his lip a moment before mumbling, “Uh… ‘bout a week ago?”

Sam’s eyes immediately go wide and alarmed. “What the fuck? _Why not?_ ”

And Dean hates it, hates how he curls in on himself, Sam’s tone making his eyes sting. “Because I _can’t_ , ok?” he blurts, “I tried to take a laxative last night but it didn’t work so I…” he looks down at the bag by his feet.

Sam follows his gaze and picks it up, sighing when he looks in it. He runs a hand through his hair. “Dean, you’re gonna have to learn how to take better care of yourself,” he scolds. “Has this happened before? Is this what all those salads were about a couple months ago?”

Dean winces. “Sorta?” He knows Sam can sense that isn’t the whole truth, but is relieved he doesn’t call him on it immediately.

“Sam?” Castiel calls as he comes down the hall, drawn by their voices. He tenses when he takes in the looks on their faces, “What happened?”

Dean has a moment of hoping Sam won’t say anything, but when he looks up at Sam and sees the disappointment in his face, his tears actually spill over. “I fucked up.”

“Dean’s constipated,” Sam says before Castiel can panic. “He’s about to have a bad time that you are not obligated to watch.”

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean says, strained. He can handle this himself. He knows he’s being a little _bitch_ about this, but that’s just his proximity to his big, to Sammy. Dean Winchester may be a little, but he is also a grown-ass man; when he gets himself into trouble, he gets himself out. He doesn’t need—

“Hush, Dee” Sam says in _That Tone_ , walking down the stairs without as much as a backwards glance. “I know you like to pretend you’re the one in charge here, but look where playing that game has gotten you.”

Dean flashes hot all over, suddenly feeling like his stomach is actually bulging enough to show. He refrains from stomping his foot like a child, tries to keep his fists from clenching. “I’m not—”

“You’re not deciding things right now, I am,” Sam interrupts. “Go to the bathroom and wait for me there.”

There’s a momentary standoff where Dean thinks about being defiant. He thinks about marching down the stairs, snatching the bag from Sam’s hand, and going to handle his own business like a fucking adult. But what stops him is that, more than anything, he really just wants to drop to the floor and cry. He wants the tears and snot and loud, wordless wailing of an upset child who can’t articulate what’s wrong. Sammy knows what’s wrong. Dean’s all backed up and his tummy hurts and he didn’t mean to, _honest_ , he really didn’t mean for this part to happen, he wants it to _stop—_

“I’m sorry!” he blubbers. He meant for this thing to be his dirty little secret and on the second time he tries it – only the _second fucking time_ – he’s messed up bad enough that Sammy’s come to make it all better. And the thing is, he _wants_ Sammy to make it all better, but Dean – the rotten little thing – can’t even tell him why this happened. The idea of telling is so terrifying that Dean can’t even think about the words it would involve. He can’t tell Sammy or Cassie how guilty he is, he doesn’t want to see the disgust on their faces. He doesn’t want them to know he’s bad. “I don—I don’ wanna!”

“Dean, come down here,” Sam says, gentler, at the same time Castiel says, alarmed, “I want to stay!”

Dean doesn’t realize how badly he’s shaking until he starts down the stairs and finds his gait unsteady. He isn’t even _breathing_ properly at this point, his hands closing around his aching tummy as he descends the stairs.

Sam clicks his tongue. “Dean, look at me,” he says, but Dean is shivering and ashamed and can’t take his eyes off Sam’s feet.

“I don’ wanna…” he says, then whimpers when Sam touches him under his chin, forcing his gaze up.

“Dee, you are not making decisions right now,” Sam says softly. He still looks upset, but Dean recognizes the concern that causes it. It makes him feel guilty as hell, but he knows – right now at least – he is still very, very loved. “You have no choices, you don’t have to do anything but listen to me. I’m gonna make it all better, ok?”

Dean is hot all over with shame, but he _wants_ ; he wants more than anything for this to be over. He feels like he deserves to suffer through this humiliation, that he deserves to have to stand right here and take this when all he wants to do is hide away forever. He swallows and nods, though his eyes skirt back to the floor.

“Ok, come on then,” Sam says, taking his arm and leading him down the hallway, Castiel falling into step right beside him. Dean flinches when Castiel takes his hand, but resolutely keeps his eyes down.

“Clothes off,” Sam says before turning back into the hallway. The moment he’s around the corner, Castiel kisses Dean softly.

“Cas,” Dean mutters thickly, turning away.

“It’s ok,” Castiel says and he helps Dean out of his shirt. Dean has _never_ felt smaller than Castiel and it’s making his chest clench. “Occasional constipation is a fairly common malady in humans.”

Dean is fairly certain his voice will break if he tries to speak. Castiel speaking in that tone, frank and nonjudgmental, is so familiar it settles him a bit, for how guilty it makes him feel. He takes a shaky breath and steps out of his bottoms. If the way Castiel’s eyes catch on his tummy is any indication, he _is_ bloated enough to see. He shuts his eyes so he _can’t_ see.

There’s a rustling of fabric just before something fuzzy hits his feet.

“Lay down, Dee,” Sam says and Dean hears him tearing open the suppository, flipping out the instruction pamphlet. “On your side, one arm under your head, the other holding up you knee.”

Dean goes down onto the blanket with Castiel’s hands on him the whole way, feeling too hot against his skin. He doesn’t speak when Castiel pulls his knee up for him and lays down so Dean’s shin is pressed against his chest. He can feel Castiel’s gaze on his face; he does not meet it, he can’t. He whimpers when he feels Sam rub a lubed finger around his hole. It’s such a familiar feeling, but it’s _not_. He’s too full and he’s scared, the lightning Sam’s touch sends through his gut is too confusing, he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like how very easily he _could_ like it. A tiny “ _no!_ ” escapes without him really meaning for it to.

Castiel shushes him and strokes his trembling thigh.

Sam doesn’t pause. “Don’t want to hurt you, Dee, just hold on,” he says, “I’m going to work it in now.” The little applicator is _far_ from the biggest thing Dean has had in his ass, but he has the bizarre thought that it just won’t fit. With everything inside him right now, pressed together and aching, he doesn’t understand how a single other thing could fit. It forces a shocked breath out of him when Sam wiggles it slowly inside, pressing the cool liquid into Dean’s rectum. He gasps again when Castiel’s hand finds his tummy, rubbing gently.

“Ok?” Castiel asks quietly.

“ _Cassie_ ,” Dean whines because he feels little and Castiel doesn’t sound little and it _hurts_ , he messed up and it _hurts._

“Alright, you have to hold it for about five minutes.” Sam says, patting Dean’s prostrate thigh gently as he tosses the tube in the trash. He settles down to sit beside him, running a hand up and down his back. “Is that enough time to tell us how we got here?”

Dean shivers and stays quiet.

“Dean.”

Dean fists his free hand in his own hair. “I can’t,” he whimpers, shifting against the loose feeling starting in his ass. He can’t do this, he can’t, _he can’t_. Sammy and Castiel love him and he can’t ruin himself for them. What was he _thinking_? He’s bad enough without being dirty, how could he _do_ this to them?

“Dean, there’s nothing you can say that’s going to make us stop loving you,” Sam promises, rubbing his side. “Nothing in the whole wide world.”

Castiel tugs Dean’s lip out from where he’s started to chew it. “You know that, right?” he asks, “Whatever this is, it won’t make you less.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean whispers, his voice strained and far away sounding.

The sound of Dean’s voice so broken and vacant makes Sam go tense all over, hand stilling on Dean’s side. “It scares you that much?” he asks, concerned.

Dean means to answer with just a look, but before he can even turn his head, he cramps so badly he loses his breath. His ass is relaxing and he can feel he’s got about a good two seconds before it all comes out, right here on this floor, right here in front of Sammy and Cassie and he. will _. not._ He jumps up in a panic and he can hear the sound he’s making, but he can’t stop, especially when in his haste to get to the toilet, he trips over Sam’s legs. He goes down hard, but he can’t be bothered with the pain in his knees, he can feel the shit about to come out, even when he gets a hand against his ass, it’s gushing against his palm, _no, no, no—!_

Then suddenly Sam is there hefting him up towards the toilet. The rapid motion makes Dean lose the fragile, fast-fading control he had; the shit doesn’t wait for him to make it to the toilet, squelches from under his palm, down his ass and legs. The rest – the _torrent_ comes out between Dean’s fingers when he falls heavily onto the toilet. He’s nearly bent double as a week’s worth of liquefied shit rushes out of him, loud and splashing up against his ass as Sam holds him by the shoulders. Dean’s head is spinning he’s so embarrassed by the sounds and the smell and the fact that Sam and Castiel are _right there_ and that he feels _so fucking relieved_ it’s nearly a visceral thing. He’s half hard and there’s no way Sam can’t see it, can’t guess what this is really all about and guess how fucked up Dean really is. The thought _guts_ him; it hurts him so far down that Dean can’t even think over the roaring in his ears. His thoughts have gone completely blank with terror (and relief) and _shame_ (and arousal) and _stark, blind terror._

Dean doesn’t have a single rational thought in his mind when he starts sobbing.

He’s sitting on a toilet, runny shit stuck between his legs and the toilet seat, shit on his _hand_ and the two men who think the world of him standing right there watching, _knowing_ he did this to himself. If it had just been a genuine accident, if Dean had been _sick_ it might not have hurt so badly, but now Dean is terrified he’s about to lose the love in their eyes and it’s making him sick, he’s _so_ sick with it. He can’t get ahold of himself, it stinks and he’s dirty and he just wants to be alone. He wants Sam to let go and walk out, he doesn’t want them to touch him, he doesn’t want to open his eyes and see their faces. He just wants to be alone and sob until he makes himself sick, until he doesn’t feel like this.

Sam does nothing of the sort, of course.

“There now, isn’t that better?” he says brightly. “You really _were_ all backed up!”

Dean is gasping for breath even as his stomach lurches, continuing to vacate itself. “ _I’m sorry!!_ ” he wails. Sam catches his poopy hand by the wrist before he can put it to his face.

“It’s ok, baby, hang on.” He turns away, keeping a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he does, “Cassie, pass me the wipes and hand soap from under the sink, please.”

Castiel grabs them instantly and Sam kisses him when he gets close. “Get Winkle and get in bed, ok?” he says, “You can even grab a movie if you want. Can you do that for me?”

Cassie nods, but doesn’t move.

Sam smiles gently. “I’ll take care of Dee.” That is enough to settle him and he gives one last sad look to Dean before leaving.

“Ok, Dee,” Sam says, “We’re gonna get you in the tub now, ok?”

“No!” Dean sobs, half-heartedly trying to tug out of Sam’s grip. “I’m yucky, don’t—”

“No, no, slow down,” Sam soothes, opening up the baby wipes and scrubbing Dean’s hand. “Sammy’s gonna get you all cleaned up now, don’t worry.”

Dean starts to choke on his own tears a little, coughing and gagging and trying to hold it all back because it’s too much— _but_ it’s too much, he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want to make this worse for Sam because he knows his Sammy; if Sam says he’s not leaving, he won’t leave. Dean is already so bad, he doesn’t need to make it worse with his _stupid, snot nosed crying_ , but he can barely breathe as Sam makes him stand, the feeling of his legs coming away from the toilet sticky with shit makes him want to scream. He’s disgusting and Sam knows it.

“Deep breaths, Dean,” Sam says, tossing the first wipe and grabbing another. He turns Dean around to scrub at the mess on his legs, between his butt cheeks. “You can cry if you need to, that’s ok, too. You’ll still be my big boy when you’re all done.”

The permission does a little to make Dean feel better, because he couldn’t stop himself at this point if he wanted to. He just stands there sniveling until Sam flushes the toilet before helping him step into the shower. He shivers even in the hot water as Sam makes him wash his hands with the good soap while Sam scrubs down the rest of him.

Sam washes his own hands under the spray before grabbing a new washcloth and scrubbing at Dean’s blotchy face, smiling sadly. “Silly boy,” he says when Dean doesn’t look at him.

“I didn’t mean it,” Dean whines again. He feels a little scrubbed raw, but somehow that makes it better, the sting makes him feel cleaner. The smell has dulled slightly under the heavy, faintly-sweet steam of the shower by the time Sam dries him off.

“I know, buddy, come on,” Sam says.  He doesn’t dress Dean as he takes him by the hand, leading him back to the bedroom.

Castiel, his binky in his mouth and Winkle in his arms, is lying on the bed with the covers turned down. He blinks away from absently watching _Pooh’s Heffalump Movie,_ sitting up the moment they walk into the room. Dean’s face is burning, his eyes fixated on the floor in shame, but Castiel isn’t having it. He sets Winkle on the nightstand and holds his arms out.

Dean looks to Sam who smiles, “Go ahead.”

The hesitation is only momentary, because Dean will never really hold back when Cassie reaches out for him like that. He gets on the bed and folds himself around Castiel, hugs him close like a stuffie. Castiel snuggles against him and, oddly enough, Dean finds himself feeling _clean._ He could’ve done without the enema, without the _audience_ and the mess on the toilet, but now that it’s over, he feels emptied and more than just literally. He doesn’t realize he’s still half-hard, doesn’t realized he started humping against Castiel until Cas whines, rubbing their cheeks together.

“It was a sex thing, then?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound judgmental, but Dean still freezes guiltily.

Dean stays quiet for a moment, the tucks his head down to hide his face. “I didn’t mean for this, honest,” he says.

“I know that, Dee,” Sam responds, the bed dipping as he sits down behind him. “That isn’t what I asked you.” He scoots so his thigh is pressed against Dean’s back, his hand rubbing along Dean’s side, “I know you didn’t mean for us to see,” he says gently, “but did you hold your poo on purpose?”

The tears are making Dean’s throat tight again. He curls further down against Castiel, drawing his baby’s shirt nervously into his mouth. “It was supposed to be just for me…” he whines, “I didn’t want you to _know_.”

“Know what?” Sam asks, and when Dean stays quiet, “That you like poo the way you like pee?”

Dean flushes hot, tears spilling over. “It’s not the same thing.”

“Ok,” Castiel says, sliding down until they’re nose to nose and brushing the tears from Dean’s cheeks. “What’s different?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Sam says, then smiles like he’s asking for something silly and not something gross, “What’s going on in that little head of yours?” He lays down, propped up on one elbow, the other hand sliding down close to Dean’s fear-flagging erection. “Even if it’s not pretty, it’s never going to be bad enough to make us walk away or love you less.”

Dean doesn’t move for a moment, then covers his face with both hands. “It’s gross,” he decides finally, “it’s not like pee, I don’t think pee is very yucky.” He can’t really say pee tastes _good_ , but he _never_ would’ve put it in his mouth if he thought it was disgusting. He doesn’t want poo in his mouth _at all_ , it’s not like that…

“But you like poo because it is yucky?”

“No,” Dean shakes his head, “I hid it because I don’t want _you_ to be yucky.”

“We poop, too, Dean,” Sam reminds him gently, as if Dean honestly might not have known. “I don’t think liking the feeling of a good poop is yucky.”

Castiel hums his agreement. “I’ve also heard anal sex described as the sensation of the best poop you could take, but extended over several minutes.”

Sam’s laughter startles Dean out of his creeping fear. “Who the hell described it that way?”

“Is it inaccurate?” Castiel asks, raising an eyebrow when Dean goes pink, remembering how he came to the exact same conclusion about the stuffed too full feeling before he loaded his diaper.

Dean shakes his head shyly. “But that’s…” he loses his nerve, doesn’t even know if he has the words to explain how the diaper made him feel, _why_ he thought to try it.

“What is it that you liked before, Dee?” Sam asks, “What did you do?”

Dean closes his eyes. Sammy is very good at making this easy for him, making him feel ok to talk even when the words have his tummy all in knots. He doesn’t want to say anything, but he wants to disobey Sam even less. “I just… you made a joke.”

“I did?” Sam says, rubbing over Dean’s stomach. “Did I hurt your feelings?” he asks, and Dean is little enough to know he means it genuinely, is not saying it to be teasing.

“Unh-uh,” He shakes his head again, “It was when you were changing Cassie’s diaper an’ you said… at least you didn’t have to deal with poo.” He feels his face getting hot, clenching his eyes tighter, “And I didn’t think nothin’ about it until later and then I… I just wanted to try it.”

“Pooping in a diaper?” Sam asks.

Dean swallows his nerves, just nodding slightly because he knows his voice is going to shake before he even speaks. “It wasn’t about the mess,” he insists.

“Until it was?” Castiel offers.

Grasping to explain himself, Dean just gapes for a moment. “I mean, it felt… _nice_. Just letting it all go, but then it…” he curls down in shame, “ _it_ was soft and warm and… _after_ , I felt all… _empty_.” He shifts, aware of the similar stinging in his ass right now, “ _Fudged_ out.”

“Fudged out, huh?” Sam’s huffed laugh is fond and Dean shudders when Sam’s hand creeps down between his legs, gently circling his tender hole. “So you wanted to try it again?”

“So I wondered… if there was _more,_ ” Dean is tensing now, resisting the urge to rub himself backwards onto the firm pressure of Sam’s fingertips, “or if it was _harder_ …”

Sam’s laugh is a little more teasing then, but he kisses Dean’s ear tenderly. “You wondered a _lil’_ too hard, buddy.”

Dean winces. “I know.”

“I’m not mad,” Sam adds, “Not about you having a kink or trying to act on it, ok? I’m a little sad you thought you had to hide it from us though.”

Dean hedges a nervous glance over his shoulder at him, “It’s dirty.”

“Dee,” Castiel says, moving back until he can look down at Dean. “We stayed before, through everything, and had _fun,_ ” he says and Dean goes hot all over when Castiel grinds their crotches together, the fabric of Castiel’s underwear dragging across his half-hard dick, “We still love you, we still _want_ you.”

“I know,” Dean says, getting a little worked up, because that’s the problem isn’t it? “I know you won’t leave me, so I don’t…” he chokes a little, “I don’t want to do things you don’t like. I want to be a good boy.”

“Dean, you _are_ a good boy. Wanting things does not make you bad,” Sam says gently, then he pauses for a moment. “I don’t think I _have_ the same kink, but I don’t hate it or hate you for it. I don’t think you’re disgusting for liking poop.” He smiles gently, running his fingers through Dean’s hair, “If you hadn’t been so upset, I could see how it could’ve been hot. Finally getting release after so long…”

Dean’s eyes widen at the words, a faint inkling of embarrassed curiosity flaring in his tummy. “No way?”

“It does make sense, honestly, in the context of bodily relief,” Castiel says and then is quiet for a moment. He tilts his head when he meets Dean’s eyes again. “I don’t think I would like to get _it_ on me, but…if you…” he blushes and swallows, “wanted _‘more’_ , I… could give that.”

The idea of sliding Castiel’s soggy, loaded diaper up over his own ass has his breath stalling in his chest, his moan smothered to barely a wheeze. “O-okay, that’s—” he flounders, “I would like—you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t,” Castiel cuts in, “and I know you wouldn’t blame me if I said I couldn’t.” He kisses him, “I’m saying I can. I’m saying I will if you ask.”

“Cassie,” Dean breathes in shock directly against Castiel’s lips, gasping when Sam presses up just behind his balls. “ _Ah!_ ”

“Suck his tongue,” Sam says, but Castiel already knew, moving on pure instinct to work open Dean’s mouth. He whimpers when Sam reaches over to grab Castiel’s hip, “Grind on him.”

When they come it’s quiet and soft, with Sam there the whole time, petting them and telling them how pretty and special they are. Sam is hard and hot against Dean’s back, but Dean knows he needs permission beforehand to touch his Sammy like a _big_ big boy. He wants to do everything in the whole wide world to make Sammy know how grateful he is; he will start by obeying his rules. He makes a note to big Dean to make Sam feel like a _fudging king_ when he comes back, but for now all he can do is reach out and suck Sam’s fingers into his mouth.

Sam knows what he’s trying to say and smiles, “You’re welcome, baby boy.” He cleans them up with his mouth just because he can before he lays down in between them. Castiel gurgles, words tucked away out of his little space, curling up against his side and Dean sprawls over his chest.

“Give me three feeling words,” Sam says when their breathing evens out, kissing Dean’s forehead.

Dean thinks for a minute, “Good. Sleepy.” Then his stomach gurgles and he blushes when Castiel giggles. “Hungry.”

Sam chuckles, “Well, yeah, you just lost a weeks’ worth of space in your tummy!” He moves his hand down to rub Dean’s back, “I’m gonna start picking food for you until you get back on track, understand? You aren’t in trouble for the secret or the mess, that was very hard for you, I know,” He looks down at Dean seriously, “But I will _not_ let you put your health at risk, understand? That is unacceptable.”

Dean nods minutely. “Yes, Sammy,” he agrees quietly, then after a pause, “I’d feel better if I had a punishment.”

Sam sighs a bit. “You understand you’re not really in trouble, right?” His lips quirk when Dean nods again. “Ok, buddy. You’re gonna be in charge of giving the bathroom a real good scrub down while Cas and I make lunch.”

“Yes, Sammy,” Dean says, stretching before going to deal with the horror show that must be the toilet. Sam catches him before he’s off the bed.

“Kisses,” he says and Dean crawls over to plant a sloppy kiss on Sam’s mouth before doing the same to Castiel, “Good boy. We love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dean says before backing off the bed. There’s still some awkwardness settled in his chest, but the way Sam and Castiel smile at him as they get up as well quells it some. As they head to the other shower to rinse off, he takes a deep breath – of the clean, not-shitty bedroom air – before going to hunt down the gloves and bleach.

Because, hey, if the worst Sam would do to him for making a big mess is to make him clean it up, well…

That feels an awful lot like permission to make big messes, doesn’t it?

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading… pooping daily is good for you! so try to be good, ok?
> 
> (Dean is v lucky he didn’t cause any damage to his internal bits or his butt! Don’t hold it for that long, ok? Your colon will thank you! So will your pride, because paying a doctor to stick a lubed finger up your butt and tell you to drink more water would probably be A Little Embarrassing.)
> 
> Happy Holidays if you’re celebrating any!


End file.
